A cursory survey of current events makes one realize that everything has happened before. Only now it’s worse.

Why is it that fascism has found firm footing again in many European countries? Why is it that now, anti-immigrant, anti-Islamist and anti-semitic sentiments are very strong and have permeated the top levels of decision-making of individual European Union states and the EU itself?

Even the vaunted home of liberal democracy, the United States, is increasingly concerned that a return of Donald Trump to the presidency will signal a descent into a fascist state.

Why is it that the political dynasties in the Philippines are more entrenched than ever? Why is it that every election season, political, entertainment and media has-beens and do-nothings besiege us with their self-serving desire to “serve the country,” believing that public office is their mission in life? It matters not that they have no passing mention of the barest of platforms and cannot even put together a coherent sentence. 

Historical scum returns. Which in turn begs the question: Why does it return? In addition to human nature, which makes it personal, the other half of the answer is because “It’s the system, stupid” and, thus, environmental.

Every high in our political history is soon outmatched by a descent more rapid and more disastrous. Consider: We have many political firsts that influenced world history. Our 1896 Philippine Revolution was the first democratic revolution in Asia that signaled the end of Western colonialism in many parts of the world, and our 1986 People Power Revolution was the inspiration for the relatively peaceful overthrow of despotic regimes, from the Soviet Union to the Middle East.

And yet our landmark revolutions were always captured by the local dynastic elite and their foreign patrons, keeping us from making fundamental changes in our economic relations and political systems. We not only shoot ourselves in the foot, we have graduated to kneecapping and pretty soon might end it all by aiming for our temple.

Even as recent as less than two decades ago, we achieved another political first: convicting a president of plunder, and yet now, the P50-million ceiling for thievery while in government to be considered plunder is often breached, and by even the most minor of subalterns like police officers and government lawyers, who in fact are supposed to be vanguards of the law. 

The general immaturity of the Philippine electorate is complemented by the dark rot of corruption that has eaten away at our souls, enabling us to kill and steal with impunity. Our vaunted institutions of family and school are seriously damaged. Parentless and single-parent families are common enough, but what is worse is when the parents themselves abuse and exploit their children. 

Our schools cannot be expected to teach the right values because they cannot even teach our children to read, write and reason. Not surprising, since some education officials are busy lining their pockets. 

Our military and police academies graduate officers who cannot talk straight or shoot straight (unless it is pointblank execution-style). No wonder our so-called protectors from the Chinese invader also need protecting by Uncle Sam. 

The Church and organized religion I will not even talk about.

We elect not only unqualified but horrible leaders.  Witness the dark forces unleashed by the subversion and manipulation of our government institutions by corrupt and unscrupulous politicians pushing their misguided agendas—the police, judiciary, Department of Health, Department of Education, Commission on Audit, Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office, Bureau of Immigration, Philippine Statistics Authority, to name but a few of the most prominently corrupt or inefficient nowadays. Ironically, in the age of data and information, our guardians of good government like the COA and the PSA are seriously flawed. They are clear examples of how data can be fudged or forged, manufactured and manipulated.

Any Juan, Maria or Alice can win political office with enough money and need not even be a Filipino. Our system of patronage politics is so embedded we do not seem to have progressed much from our feudal society, from the time of the datu and the encomendero. And yet, even the most so-called mature democracies are buffeted by conflicting ideological and value systems (Are whites better than other races? Should women be allowed to terminate a pregnancy at will? Should children be allowed to choose their gender?). 

If our country’s vice president can publicly proclaim her dream of beheading the country’s president, why not go the whole hog and dream of the apocalypse, when everything shall be wiped out and lost to time, as happened in centuries past, with conquerors erasing entire cities, here exemplified by the destruction of Babylon by Assyrian King Sennacherib: “The city and houses I completely destroyed from foundations to roof and set fire to them. I tore down both inner and outer city walls, temples, temple-towers made of brick and clay—as many as there were—and threw everything into the Arahtu canal. I dug a ditch inside the city and thereby leveled off the earth on its site with water. I destroyed even the outline of its foundations. I flattened it more than any flood could have done. In order that the site of that city and its temples would never be remembered, I devastated it with water so that it became a mere meadow.”

The parallels to contemporary times are shockingly alike, as shown by the time-honored Israeli tradition of leveling the houses of Palestinian “terrorists” and their families. Now, it is on an industrial scale, when just within the first five months (October 2023 to February 2024) of the ongoing Israel-Hamas war, 35% of the buildings in the densely  populated Gaza Strip were destroyed or damaged. 

And here we are, resignedly watching the waves come in and hoping they will take out what they took in. War. Oppression of other people. Worship of money and power. State terror… The scum has returned. Will it remain? 

Maybe the flood of the next world war will finally wash everything away, scum and all. Even if the scum survives, it will have nothing to return to.

May heaven help us save ourselves from ourselves, for it is when we change ourselves that we can also change our environment.

Read more: That’s entertainment in politics

The post Scum returns, to stay? appeared first on CoverStory.

In the background rang a few protest songs, and some participants would sing along to them with fists in the air as each candle slowly glowed orange against the shiny uneven pavement, around many careful ankles.

Continuing the true story

The participants consisted of those who lived through the martial law era and those who did not. The latter, students particularly,  made up a bulk of the attendees.

Historian and professor Xiao Chua of the August Twenty One Movement took note of the crowd’s volume and found it encouraging that “we do not forget those who fought during the martial law period.”

In his speech delivered almost entirely in Filipino, Chua described teachers as “frontliners in the telling of a just, truthful, and meaningful history.”

He recalled the uprising on Feb. 22-25, 1986, that toppled the Marcos dictatorship: “We have to remember that People Power, despite being a very beautiful four days of peaceful revolution, would not be possible if it wasn’t for the 40 years of hardship, sacrifice, and blood that our heroes had given. I hope we can take care of this freedom [that we have] … While we can remember, no matter the current politics and the changing of seasons, we should not stop remembering, like we are doing now.”

‘Best metaphor for democracy’

Kiko Aquino Dee, deputy executive director of the Ninoy and Cory Aquino Foundation and a grandson of the late Aquino couple, also said as much in his own speech that followed Chua’s. “However someone will try to dismantle and remove our democracy, and despite the fact that there will always be someone to attempt it, we need to keep being here to fight for and enrich our democracy so that all our citizens will continue to benefit from it,” he said.

It took some time to light all the candles, in part because some of the wicks had gotten wet from the earlier rain, and had to be lit again and again until they stayed aflame. In his speech, Aquino Dee likened it to the act of fighting for democracy: “What I realized about democracy, with what we did earlier when it was raining and the candles got wet, and we would light them but they would suddenly get put out, and we’d keep lighting them again, and they kept getting extinguished again—maybe that’s the best metaphor for democracy.”

“Democracy is not something that just lives without effort,” he continued in a mix of English and Filipino. “It is something that we fight for and commit to. It is held together by paper clips and chewing gum, but because democracy is the only way of life that aligns with our dignity as Filipinos and as human beings, we have to keep fighting for it.”

The candles flickered and faltered and needed repeated lighting. Nonetheless, they stayed lit for the rest of the night, even past the end of the program which closed with remarks from the former chief justice Maria Lourdes Sereno.

A fight through generations

“First and foremost, it is very true that there is a need to fight against historical revisionism,” Sereno said. “There are cases in the Supreme Court and the lower courts that document what happened to the rights of our citizens.”

Sereno raised the need to remind government officials that, according to the provision on  accountabilities in Article 11 of the Constitution, “public office is a public trust, and every public official shall be accountable to the people at all times; must serve them with utmost diligence, efficiency, and honesty, and must lead modest lives.”

“We have to ask during the [2025] elections, ‘Are you leading modest lives? Are you accountable to the people at all times? Do you understand what we were saying in the preamble that we will establish a just and humane society?’” Sereno urged the assembly. “This gathering that we have done in front of the monument of heroes that gave up their lives is a pledge of the youth and the generation that can still fight that we will help to hold officials in power to account. Why? Because we are building a nation.”

She went on to address the youth in the crowd—many of them students visibly soaked from the earlier rain but still participative during the entire event—entreating them to be mindful of their role in “ushering the healing of the older generations.”

“I do not ask that you become caregivers. Not at all,” the former chief justice said. “What I mean is, those who fought during the martial law era carry pain, and their fight for justice would be cut once they depart from this life.”

But with the young people’s presence at the commemoration, Sereno said, “it is encouraging to see that there is hope for the older generation—that what they fought for will not be forgotten, but instead will be intensified in a very creative and intelligent way that makes accountability meaningful.”

Read more: Digital martial law library launched, ‘to ensure that all Filipinos will remember’

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By turning the gallery space into a war room of Murillo maps, drawings, Brandt line neon light, and cubist characterization of archival images, Garcellano’s artwork stoically breathes into the atmosphere of geopolitical warfare of contemporary postcolonial Philippines, in which the grayscale color palette converts this exhibition into a military ensemble, acknowledging how it is geopolitically positioned. Unfortunately, the aesthetic freedom remains in the grip of the military cartography and the imperial warfare that counts and defines the acceptable image of one’s imaginable national territory. 

Under the weight of such ideological thinking of ruling sovereignties, our regional situation has ushered Garcellano into a direction where she imagines the folk as faceless, disfigured by the cubist aesthetics, which makes her drawings not only a way to wash away and efface our obsession with the figure or image. Instead, as the faces of the people appear empty, she dares to seize the nerve center of the tensed and quivering sensations of the shatter zones of these territorial disputes in which nation-states poorly perform, and harrowingly lead her to fragments and rubble that figure in and people farmlands, factories and villages being crippled and dwarfed into what Neferti Tadiar calls remaindered life. 

Surviving despair

Garcellano’s drawing, as a result, becomes a process of surviving the seemingly lengthening lines of despair, diminished by the totalizing regimes of oppression, forcing us to neglect or dismiss particularity, nuances, and distinctions, making us all witnesses of a monochromatic grayscale world of pessimism.

The idea of grayscale pessimism comes from the color of the grief that Garcellano performs, evokes and traces in this exhibition. This begins by allowing the specter of art history to haunt us once again. The drawings allude to Francisco Goya whose spectral presence figures in the work  After Goya’s The Junta of the Philippines (La Junta de Filipinas) 1815, drawn with graphite pencil on paper, which Garcellano turns the full oil on canvas, such as the royal red interior linings and margins, the full-color display of the restless crowd in the annual meeting of the Royal Company of the Philippines, along with the surprising presence of King Ferdinand VII at the center, into a color composition where all recede into a monochromatic depiction. By having this tonal register, the junta warps into a cartographic sketch of a seeming court hearing, deepening further the historical experience of Goya as someone whose political optimism was crushed by disappointment as the liberal politics of enlightenment dawned on him and, at the same time, the promise of salvation from the Spanish empire finally exposed its naked lies. Through this drawing, the trick of light of enlightenment appears merely into a haze of walls, charcoal black interiors, and corroding figures of people. 

Leaning into that history, Garcellano presses further valence of the emotional substance of pessimism that can be inhered from even archival works which many believed to be promising in the fields of arts, literary studies, and history. Yet, unfortunately, despite how archives open the wealth of the past, she refuses to take part in such false triumph for the same antique appearance of the photographs would only lead us back to the same social classes, racial subjectivity, and ethnic minoritarianism whose suffering collectively continues. 

In the work Filipinos Labeled as Indios, Garcellano translates an archival photo from American imperialist photography by subduing and ashening the faces of the children, allowing them to be given the chance to change their agency and preventing their photographic visibility and presence from being captured into traces and fading away. As Vicente Rafael shows the power of the native agency in their ability to recognize how, despite being colonial subjects, they look back, repel the camera, and “evade the colonial and national ways of seeing,” such a political perspective allows us also to appreciate Garcellano’s intervention as a form of turning the gaze into a process of disfiguring and withdrawing the same subjects from the colonial appropriation and utility of photography and the archive at large. 

Sexual division of labor

By harnessing the intractable nature and the capability of the people who populate this curatorial exhibition, Garcellano grants a fugitive characterization of them that deepens the blur of the faces as they all collectively figure in a visual body composition informed by the logic of the sexual division of labor. Looking at the drawing 19th Century Women Workers of the Tobacco Monopoly, a work based on a photograph from the archival photos in Ed de Jesus’ history of the tobacco monopoly in the Philippines, we get to see the collective nature of such labor production with a man standing on the left, behaving as an overlord, a stereotype of gender hierarchy. The work 20th Century Moro Boys in the Carpentry Shop, from a photo that alludes to the colonial process of labor servitude such as the Cabo system, shows the scaffoldings of the factory blackening, amplifying the role of contrasts. 

In the juxtaposition of these two works, the sexual division of labor also unravels in the form of an aesthetic display of contrasts, illustrating the seeming permanence of the antinomy of gender and class suffering, and their mark-making in the same spaces where they are forced to be smudged, blurred, and at large, socially displaced, fighting against the effacement of the truth of their desires—a rightful place in our society, a recognition in the share of our country’s wealth, and the value of the very labor that allows this nation to survive. 

The artistic gift of Garcellano, in this case, seizes the inextricable link among the people and how the same link exteriorizes the intersectionality of things despite the persistence of contrasts and divides among color, race, gender and class. All of them are intimately tied especially with the gradation from black to white drawing the range of the grayscale color pessimism that shares an expansive kinship with the critiques of Afro-pessimism whose affect listens to the painful truth of our world history, which Saidiya Hartman articulates as structured by using non-black as the point of departure to imagine freedom. 

Garcellano languishes in this problem by drawing a parallel experience in which our version has also evolved into a chronotope of our national history, appearing in the form of statecraft’s anti-Filipino political unconscious. She displays such tragedy in her neon-light work, The Brandt Line (1970 to 1980 version), which is the very line that divides the world between the global north and global south, illuminating in its curves, wrinkles and folds, providing a luminous presence to fully appreciate the drawings surrounding it and, at the same time, the installation The Things Before Us, where our claims to sovereign rights are weighed down by the dark painted stones, appearing like debris, along with the digital map of Pogo hubs, military training camps, and economic zones across the country, the West Philippine Sea, and our Murillo map, figuring as it is superimposed, a display of counter-mappings. 

Solidarity

With the dissimulation of empires of what can be considered as the people’s map, this exhibition of Garcellano is also an expression of solidarity with other nations whose maps are erased day by day, from Palestine to Ukraine. She allows her anger, protestations, and discontent to trace into the works, and make us follow through. Her hands are leading us to draw and trace further from and through our suffering, anger, and, in her case, pessimism as she confronts a history that Carmita Eliza de Jesus Icasiano calls “cyclical movements.” It’s a history where she sees how Garcellano’s understanding situates us in a truth where we seem to revert to our subjugated past, and the hope she wants us to disentangle from has never been premised on naïve optimism. 

Instead, Garcellano performs the autobiographical drawing of our country, without the rose-colored spectacles of liberalism, and bourgeois nationalism. She draws for us to immerse further in the depths of the grayscale color of our past and present, in the pains that colonial history may repeat once again, and in the fact that we may lose everything that we have, even our current country to which we dearly pledge our freedom and belonging—optimism of the hand, pessimism of the heart.

Jose Mari Cuartero is an assistant professor in the Department of English and Comparative Literature at the University of the Philippines Diliman.

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Aquino, a key opposition leader who fought the dictatorial rule of the President’s late father, Ferdinand Marcos Sr., was assassinated while disembarking from a plane at the then Manila International Airport upon his return from exile in the United States on Aug. 21, 1983. He was the husband and father of the late former presidents Corazon C. Aquino and Benigno “P-Noy” Aquino III. 

Commenting on the President’s action, Albay Rep. Edcel Lagman said: “The dates of national memorials must not be changed to dilute their significance and accommodate revisionism.”  

Lagman issued the reminder that proclamations moving holidays should be made six months before the actual holiday, or risk violating Republic Act 9492. 

Under RA 9492, or An Act Rationalizing the Celebration of National Holidays, Ninoy Aquino Day may be celebrated on a Monday nearest Aug. 21 if this date falls on a Wednesday or a Sunday, unless modified by law or proclamation. 

“Ninoy Aquino’s death must be [marked] on the day of his assassination, which falls on Aug. 21,” Lagman said, adding:  

“It is in the same manner that we cannot change the dates of Christmas Day on Dec. 25, New Year’s Day on Jan. 1, the culmination of the four-day Edsa revolution [that toppled the Marcos dictatorship] on Feb. 25, Labor Day on May 1, and the Feast of the Immaculate Conception on Dec. 8.” 

It was on Thursday last week that the President moved the commemoration from Wednesday to Friday this week, to allow for a four-day weekend “to boost local tourism,” he said. The next Monday, Aug. 26, is National Heroes’ Day, a holiday.

Rocking the boat 

History professor Xiao Chua wondered why the Marcos administration had to “rock the boat’’ all the time, “instead of the commemoration just passing by without an issue.” 

“Instead of just letting it pass by, it seems that they are doing something to make people forget it. The more it becomes an issue,’’ Chua told CoverStory.

“The only consolation is that people talk about it more than just letting it pass by,’’ he said.

The August Twenty-One Movement (Atom) described Mr. Marcos’ proclamation as “excessive’’ but not surprising. 

“Just as he imitated the management style of a former president who was both oppressive and corrupt, he also imitated the attack on a symbol of democracy and courage of Filipinos in the guise of domestic tourism,” Atom said in a statement.

“It seems that the Philippines is returning to the days when Aug. 21 was not a holiday. It was a time when Filipinos themselves decided that nothing should stop them on this day from commemorating the greatness and total sacrifice of one Ninoy Aquino,’’ the group added. 

Despite Mr. Marcos’ proclamation, activities marking Ninoy Aquino Day on Aug. 21 will proceed as scheduled, including the celebration of Masses at the Santuario de la Inmaculada Concepcion in Concepcion, Tarlac, and at the Manila Memorial Park in Sucat, Parañaque, where the Aquinos are buried; wreath-laying at Plaza Miranda in Quiapo, Manila; and film showings at The Aquino Museum and Event Center in Concepcion, Tarlac, and at the Bantayog ng mga Bayani auditorium in Quezon City.

Read more: Ninoy Aquino’s speeches are now available online

The post Remember Ninoy Aquino’s murder on Aug. 21 appeared first on CoverStory.

As a tribute to the propagandist’s heroism, Ilonggo visual artists Kristoffer Brasileno, JJ Macabanti and Bryan Caoyonan repainted the mural of Lopez Jaena on Muelle Loney Street or Iloilo River wharf. 

Born in Jaro, Iloilo, in 1856, the patriot was known for his extraordinary oratory skills and sharp wit. He was also a brilliant writer and journalist, his contributions to the propaganda movement being pivotal for the revolutionary cause in awakening national consciousness and inspiring the fight against Spanish colonization.

In 1888, Lopez Jaena founded and became editor of “La Solidaridad,” a newspaper that became the voice of Filipinos aspiring for freedom and reform. Writing with satire and humor as literary tools, he criticized the Spanish regime, rallied his countrymen to embrace independence and illuminated the revolutionary path toward freedom.

The mural project, aside from being a preservation activity, was also part of the city government’s sustained support for public art and the creative expression of its artists, the makeover visible in now colorful flyovers, bridges and streets. 

Public art plays a crucial role in keeping history alive and relevant. Thus, Lopez Jaena’s mural serves as a visual storytelling medium that connects past heroism with present-day pride and inspires future generations. 

Lopez Jaena’s legacy remains deeply relevant, inspiring new generations and receiving the honor it deserves through public art initiatives in Iloilo City.

His writings and speeches continue to inspire a sense of patriotism and a commitment to the ideals of liberty and equality. 

Through the mural’s vibrant strokes, we honor his legacy and pass it on to inspire future generations.

Read more: Artist paints tribute to heroes in time for Independence Day

The post A fresh look at Graciano Lopez Jaena’s heroic legacy appeared first on CoverStory.

The first sparks of rebellion flew in Barangay Jelicuon in Iloilo’s New Lucena, culminating in the historic Cry of Santa Barbara. Brave men and women gathered in the simple village of Jelicuon to plot the uprising in what is now known as the Cry of Jelicuon.

From there, the uprising spread and reached Santa Barbara to become a full-fledged revolution in Panay and, eventually, the rest of the Visayas and parts of Mindanao. 

The events have been reenacted since 2019 in Santa Barbara’s Kahilwayan Festival (Nov. 17), the name derived from the Ilonggo word “kahilwayan,” meaning freedom or independence. A vibrant dance-drama encapsulates the local revolutionary spirit and showcases the people’s courage and unity.

Flag-raising in the plaza

On Nov. 17, 1898, the Philippine flag was raised by revolutionary forces led by Gen. Martin T. Delgado in Santa Barbara’s plaza.  For the first time, the flag flew outside Luzon before a large crowd, but more than a symbolic gesture, the act was a bold declaration of the Visayan’s commitment to the fight for independence. 

Local historians cited by the state-owned Philippine News Agency narrated the following account of what might have happened during that time:

The 1896 uprising in Luzon did not spread immediately to Iloilo as the Spanish authorities believed that Ilonggos would remain loyal to the Crown, with then Governor—General Basilio Agustin even enlisting the Ilonggos to join the Volunteer Militia to fight the Tagalog rebels. 

They appointed Delgado, a “mestizo” serving as Santa Barbara’s chief executive, as commander of the “voluntaries,” not knowing that he was already a “revolucionario”. Delgado declared his stand on Oct. 28, 1898, and took the municipal building. 

Revolutionary government

A revolutionary government of the Visayas was organized and formally established on Nov. 17 that year during the flag-raising program at the plaza. Its officials were Roque Lopez, president; Vicente Franco, vice president and secretary of the interior; Venancio Concepcion, secretary of finance; Ramon Avanceňa, secretary of state; Jovito Yusay, secretary of justice; Julio Hernandez, secretary of war; Fernando Salas, secretary general. 

Delgado was General–in-Chief of the Revolutionary Forces, and Santa Barbara became its base from which they launched a campaign to liberate Iloilo. On Dec. 24, 1898, Governor-General de los Rios surrendered.

A year after Spain lost the archipelago, however, the Americans came. With his army, Delgado fought the new colonizers until his surrender on Feb. 2, 1901. He was appointed the first governor of Iloilo province by the Americans and kept the position after the 1903 elections

With Santa Barbara under American rule, it was established as a municipality by the Commonwealth government. Its significant role in Philippine history was recognized during the Philippine Centennial Celebration in 1998 as a National Trunk Site in the Centennial Freedom Trail.

Keeping the flame alive

In 2001, the Kahilwayan Festival was launched during the administration of Mayor Isabelo Maquin. It has attracted visitors and tourists, aiming to deepen their appreciation of the historic events and to promote Santa Barbara as a cultural and historical destination.

One of the festival’s highlights is the reenactment of the Cry of Santa Barbara, a dramatic performance accompanied by the stirring “Marcha Libertador” which culminates in the raising of the Philippine flag.

Santa Barbara’s dance-drama will be staged on the streets of Manila as part of this year’s celebration of Independence Day on Wednesday (June 12). 

“This is historic for us because this is the first time that we were invited to join the parade at the national level,” Gov. Arthur Defensor Jr. said in a statement. 

Irene Magallon, municipal tourism officer, highlighted other meetings and uprisings across the Visayas, including the Cry of Jelicuon in New Lucena, Cry of Lincud in Dingle, the 19 Martyrs of Aklan, and the Battle of Balisong in Capiz.

“We will carry this experience through our lifetime,” she said.

Read more: Artist paints tribute to heroes in time for Independence Day

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Helena was Petty’s Tita (aunt)—a niece of her father, Tomas Benitez—whom she knew to be a shopper and collector. MiraNila is replete with 4, 500 books and more than 2, 000 pieces of original furniture and paintings collected by Helena’s parents, Conrado and Francisca Benitez—respectively an educator and constitutionalist, and a suffragette and cofounder of PWU, the first university for women in Asia established by Asians.

Helena expanded her parents’ collection, adding her Murano glass, Chinese ceramics, Wedgwood, and celadon that she bought during her travels.

This recent afternoon we’re at MiraNila’s dining room after visiting the living room and library. Among the Chinese ceramics in one of the display cases is a stray palayok (pot) that Petty says is the oldest in the collection—think Tabon-cave old—which was gifted to Helena by archaeologist Robert Fox. Tellingly, the room holds other treasures, namely the Lalique chandelier and two Sheraton-style altar tables appraised by Leon Gallery as “the most valuable [objects] in the room because of [their] good condition.”

A tour of the heritage house is part of the press conference organized by the Alice Reyes Dance Philippines (ARDP) to announce its performance of “Carmina Burana” on June 14 and 15 in the Samsung Performing Arts Theater at Circuit Makati.

How are MiraNila, choreographer Alice Reyes, and her ballet piece “Carmina Burana” connected? It may appear tenuous at first glance, but MiraNila’s history throws light on the strong, nostalgic link binding the three.

No demolition

It was foresight on Helena’s part when she established the Benitez-Tirona MiraNila Foundation. She saved her own house from demolition, which seems to be the default modus operandi of the government vis-à-vis heritage buildings. The foundation also gave access to scholars, tourists, the curious, and those simply wanting to bask in the ambience of serenity and history of a Commonwealth-era home.

Together with MiraNila’s loyal household staff and experts, Petty and kin have kept their aunt’s house in order. In an interview with Inquirer.net in 2019, Petty said she and her sister Bebet (McClelland) “culled down the contents of the house to about 2,000 objects” from July to December 2018.

Per Inquirer.net, the heritage buildings that were unable to dodge the wrecking ball include the Avenue Theater by Juan F. Nakpil, the Mandarin Oriental hotel by Leandro V. Locsin, and the Jai- Alai building. The 104-year-old Sta. Mesa Fire House on Magsaysay Boulevard is next on the chopping block, but its demolition has been suspended. The National Historical Commission of the Philippines (NHCP) is looking into whether the Manila government acquired the proper permits despite the building being more than 50 years old.

Under Republic Act No. 10066, or the National Cultural Heritage Act of 2009, structures dating at least 50 years old should be conserved and protected from any modification or demolition.

MiraNila is demolition-proof, having been declared a heritage house on April 7, 2011, by the NHCP. However, Petty explains, any changes to the property cannot exceed 30% except for the garden, which is not covered by the citation.

Back stories

The main house is a stone’s throw from the chapel, which was constructed in 2006 and emerges at the end of the path from the main gate. Religious or not, one is drawn to the stained-glass depiction of the Holy Family made by the German manufacturer of art glass, Robert Kraut.

Walking towards the house, Petty points to a himbabao tree and tells us that Ferdinand Marcos Sr. was “happy to see it in Manila.” It’s one of two on the property. Cuisine-wise, himbabao is an ingredient in the Ilocano dish dinengdeng, Historically, the tree was where Conrado Benitez and Dr. Y.C James Yen of Taiwan discussed establishing the Philippine Rural Reconstruction Movement (PRRM), the first nongovernment organization in the country, at the height of the Hukbalahap movement in 1952.

“PRRM aimed to develop self-reliance and self-government at the barrio level, explains Petty. “Its original board members included Conrado Benitez, Gil Puyat, Salvador Araneta, then secretary of commerce, Paul R. Parrette of Philippine Manufacturing Corp. and Albino Z. SyCip of China Bank Corp, and, later on, Horacio ‘Boy’ Morales and the ‘doctor to the barrios’ Juan Flavier. Helena was its board chair until her demise.”

Petty urges us to go up the tower before heading to the press conference. Keeping one’s hands free is prudent so one can grasp both handrails of the three flights of stairs from the second floor. For the steep climb, one is rewarded with a vista of the sprawling garden, a cool breeze, and a furnished tower room that’s a good nook to read in or to hide from the world.

“To keep the house alive,” as Petty puts it, MiraNila partnered with The Blue Leaf, which operates The Gallery MiraNila that does events catering, and the boutique luxury accommodation The Henry MiraNila Suites. Patisserie Bizu has also opened Bizu MiraNila Café on the premises.

Art Deco house

MiraNila was built in 1929 by Cornelio Pineda, master foreman of Pedro Siochi & Co that also worked on the Manila Metropolitan Theater, Rizal Memorial Sports Coliseum, and Manila Post Office. Gregorio Melchor Paredes, painter-sculptor and Francisca Benitez’s cousin, was the architect-consultant who oversaw the house’s sculpture and design of architectural details.

The bucolic hilltop of San Juan overlooking Manila was MiraNila’s original location. It got its name, as the story goes, when someone from the tower exclaimed, “Mirar Manila!” (Look, Manila!) while viewing the city’s landscape. Eventually, the Spanish phrase was whittled down to MiraNila, and it became the name of Conrado Benitez’s house.

“MiraNila is an Art Deco house because of the transoms, but it’s a conservative house,” says Petty.

Its library specializes in reading materials from the Commonwealth era up to the end of martial law and books on culture and the arts. Archival books are on the first floor; the main stack and request area are in the reading room on the second. On the first floor of the library are paintings of the three constitutionalists—Higinio Benitez (1898 Malolos Congress), his son Conrado (one of the “seven wise men” of the 1935 Congress), and Conrado’s son, Tomas (1971 Congress)—and photographs, such as Conrado’s group picture with his teammates and coach Oscar Knudson circa 1906-1911. Conrado was captain of the University of Chicago’s water polo team, a considerable feat for a comparatively diminutive athlete back then.

The furniture in the library is likewise historic, having been “made by the prisoners of Old Bilibid prison on Oroquieta Street,” according to Petty.

She adds: “José Abad Santos, [a former chief justice of the Philippines] and Conrado’s best friend, encouraged prisoners to do craft work. He also had the women prisoners in Old Bilibid transferred to Mandaluyong.”

At home in MiraNila 

Petty makes it known at the press conference held in the pavilion that Alice Reyes is no stranger to MiraNila: “Alice has had a long history with MiraNila. She was a pioneer dancer of the Bayaniban troupe [and] danced the tinikling with her father when she was 16.”

My imagination goes into overdrive: The teenager Alice is running up the winding staircase to see Helena—Tita Helen to her—and, coming down, stops midway at the oil portrait of Francisca by Eli Gajo.

She’s relaxing underneath the himbabao tree in the side garden. Did she know the story of MiraNila’s gardener being a Japanese sleeper agent in the Benitez household?

“After the RCA Tower was bombed, the gardener told Francisca to move out because they were going to take over the house,” narrates Petty. “Francisca refused and moved into the garage. The Japanese planted 16 mines around the house [which] didn’t go off. The US infantry decommissioned them. But the house of Abad Santos was blown up.”

Petty says that the Abad Santos house was rebuilt in the 1950s and that the entire family lives in the five-hectare property near MiraNila today.

I imagine Alice in Helena’s bedroom on the second floor looking at Helena’s pastel-on-graphite-paper portrait by Anita Cruz Magsaysay (later Magsaysay-Ho) before gazing out the window.

“Anita and Helena were high school classmates at PWU. The portrait has been in Helena’s bedroom since the time she received it,” says Petty.

Did Alice look at the Abad Santos house back then, which was visible from the second floor? Did she know that the Benitez family named my old high school, Jose Abad Santos Memorial School (aka JASMS), in honor of him? A picture of Abad Santos circa 1930s is displayed at the Quezon Corner outside the master bedroom that, Petty says, “Fernando Amorsolo used,” or “a copy of it as a guide for his portrait of Abad Santos [displayed] at PWU.”

Homecoming

By no stretch of the imagination can Alice Reyes not be into dancing. It’s in her blood. Her parents. according to my research, were a musician and an artist, and her aunt founded a dance company. Although Helena is gone, Alice is back at MiraNila, reintroducing one of her major ballet pieces, “Carmina Burana.”

“This is a sort of a homecoming,” Alice says at the press conference. “MiraNila was magical. I used to come visit Tita Helen. It’s nice to see that the staff is taking care of the house.”

“Carmina Burana” is ARDP’s second show for the season after “Rama Hari. It’s set to the cantata of German composer Carl Orff with the same name that’s based on a compilation of poems by the Goliards called Codex Burana. The poems, written from the 11th to the 13th century, touched on worldly pleasures, i.e., drinking, gambling, lust, and love-making, says performingarts.nd.edu.

The ballet is about a community experiencing the joys of life, drinking, and love through the exuberant, erotic, and pagan movements of the dancers. The show will also feature the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra, the Philippine Madrigal Singers, and soloist Lara Maigue.

Forming the program’s first part before the main ballet are “Dugso” (The Offering); “Summer’s End,” and “After Whom.” “Dugso” is “a remounting not done in ages,” Alice says of her collaborative piece with National Artist for Music Ramon Santos that premiered in 1972, and that drew inspiration from a dance with the same name performed by the tribes of Bukidnon in Mindanao.

“Summer’s End” is a piece by Alice’s friend Norman Walker that premiered in 1980. ARDP president Tats Manahan describes it as a sweet, whimsical pas de deux about a couple who fall in love in the summer.

Augustus “Bam” Damian III’s 2005 piece “After Whom” is, quips Manahan, “a strong, energetic piece.”

Adds Alice: “Everyone’s on pointe shoes, women wear shorts, and men wear skirts.”

Preservation mode

Petty and Alice are clearly on the side of art preservation as against demolition and oblivion. MiraNila has been thriving under Petty’s administration, and she’s steadily looking at how to get the heritage house firmly onto the people’s radar. For now, there are the MiraNila guided tours—available by appointment—and a concert scheduled in November at the music alcove underneath the winding staircase.

“It’ll be a small event because the first floor can only hold a number of people. The Steinway piano is under restoration at the moment,” says Petty.

On Alice’s part, her company has been staging classic ballet pieces that serve two purposes. The first is to showcase her dancers who, in her assessment, are “well-rounded and can tackle everything and anything.”

“We’re a company that has repertoire [and] the ability to stage Filipino classics,” she declares.

Regarding the second purpose, Alice hopes that staging the classics will catch the attention of the government enough for it to invest in ARDP and other companies, to help preserve those very classics. Her perennial bugbear, as she points out, is that when a performance is done, it’s done.

“No one can [restage] Agnes Locsin’s ‘Engkantada’ or Bam’s ‘After Whom!'” she exclaims.

Comparatively, preserving ballet performances isn’t a problem in America and Europe—”they’re better at it,” Alice says, so much so that young Russian dancers, for example, can watch old ballet productions.

That heritage buildings and works of Filipino choreographers are constantly teetering on the line between survival and permanent cessation is a misfortune. Old buildings and classic dances are historical testimonies to a country’s past lives and achievements that serve as guides for future generations to map out their course. To banish them into oblivion leaves everyone, particularly the youth, who are already bereft of history lessons in school, truly bereft. 

Fortunately, Petty Benitez-Johannot and Alice Reyes are maintaining the balance between preservation and development by keeping the past abreast with the times: MiraNila serves as a lesson in Philippine history, and “Carmina Burana” provides a glimpse of timeless Filipino grace, versatility and creativity.

*******************

For tickets to “Carmina Burana, call TicketWorld (0917 550 699710999 954 5922), CCP Box Office (tel. 8832 3704), and ARDP (Viber: 0967 153 6173 | e-mail: [email protected]).

To tour MiraNila, contact Delia Pineda at tel. 8722 0243 | 0945 487 6827 or e-mail: [email protected].

Read more: ‘Namit!’ highlights the tastes and aromas of Iloilo food

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Today, it is known to the world as Scarborough Shoal or Bajo de Masinloc. I was among the journalists who joined the expedition, and to my recollection, I was the first to set foot on it.  

I was 33 years old, a correspondent covering Olongapo and Zambales for The Philippine Star, and a stringer for Kyodo News and CBS News. I may no longer remember the names of some people, 27 years having passed, but I will never forget this remarkable odyssey.  

Under the veil of darkness, we boarded a Philippine Navy patrol vessel that left at midnight from Alava Pier, Subic Bay, en route to Scarborough Shoal. We were a mix of international correspondents and stringers, local reporters, and photojournalists. Then members of the House of Representatives of the 10th Philippine Congress—Jose Yap (2nd district, Tarlac) and Roquito Ablan (1st district, Ilocos Norte) led the 220-kilometer journey that took more than 15 hours.

Earlier, I received a call from Anthony de Leon, a media specialist with the Subic Bay Metropolitan Authority (SBMA) public affairs office. (Anthony died two years ago. Writing about this made me miss his friendship.) He wanted to know if I’d join the trip—“Sama ka mamaya?”—and said the coverage would be “interesting.” na coverage ito. Congressmen Ablan and Yap will go to Scarborough Shoal with some members of the media.” 

I was a bit put off that the SBMA issued the invitation so close to the scheduled departure, and thought that maybe the province-based reporters would just be “fillers.” Still, the prospect of joining an important and maybe historical coverage excited me. I asked Anthony: What time? 

‘Pack light’

“Twelve midnight” was his quick reply. “Pack light dahil balikan lang tayo. Be in front of the SBMA flagpole 30 minutes early. We will walk to the pier with the others,” he added. 

Anthony made it sound like an easy day tour. But like most of us, he might have been shocked by the circumstances we faced as soon as the vessel left Subic. It was probably the most uncomfortable sea voyage I have ever taken in my life. No bed bunks, only portable chairs to sit on for the duration of the trip. So, when we were traversing some bumpy portions of the sea, I thought it was handy that I packed some sick bags in my survival kit!

An expedition to unfamiliar territory surely requires days of planning and preparation. Back in the day, SBMA usually extended courtesies like food and drinks on press visits and special coverages, especially on remote locations. I did not bother to ask Anthony what I should take with me. And didn’t he say, “pack light” because we were not staying long?  

The thought that we might have been stranded on the shoal due to unpredictable circumstances, like sudden bad weather or any life-threatening situation, occurred to me only after we had returned to Subic. 

During the trip I found that most of us had only the clothes we were wearing, our press IDs, our reporter’s tools (notebook, camera, tape recorder, flip phone), and the spirit of adventure. 

We were saved from hunger and dehydration by the two lawmakers’ Boy Scout spirit. Both Ablan and Yap brought coolers full of water and other refreshments, as well as sandwiches, snacks, and candies to share with the press and the crew. 

As we sailed out of the mouth of Subic Bay, I heard somebody say, “Wow, this is literally a slow boat to China.” One of the journos hollered back, “No! It’s a slow boat to Masinloc Shoal.” Loud cheers from everyone followed. 

When we were not writing on our notebooks or taking pictures of the vastness of the ocean, we amused ourselves somehow. I recall that at one point, a Filipino reporter was singing, spoofing the lyrics of “Scarborough Fair” by Simon and Garfunkel:  “Are you going to Scarborough Shoal/ Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme…” 

I remember there were only two of us women present. I doubt if anybody slept during the bumpy journey. It was ridiculously hard, but I managed power naps every now and then while sitting on my chair.

There were two small cabins assigned to Ablan and Yap but by their haggard look, it seemed that they were unable to sleep, too. Yap, at that time the chair of the influential House committee on defense, was wearing a neck brace—for whatever condition, I cannot recall. He might have removed it before he and Ablan planted the Philippine flag on the highest rock formation in the atoll because it was not visible when we were taking their photos. 

Almost there

The voyage was a test of patience for everyone aboard the Navy vessel, including the captain and crew who remained professional and calm through the journey. We took turns asking if we were anywhere near our destination: “Malapit na ba tayo?”

I briefly joined a Japanese reporter in his space portside. I remember him to be of hefty build, and he was from Yomiuri or Asahi Shimbun (I remember the “Shimbun” on his press card). He was smoking. We both quietly watched the horizon for a while. Then he looked at his watch and said to me, “I think we are close.”  As if on cue, an announcement came from the PA system, “We will reach the destination in an hour,” eliciting cheers from the weary passengers. It was a very warm mid-afternoon, yet the sun brought hope to the news-hungry group that this is going to be a good day of reporting. 

I was returning to my chair to get my water bottle when suddenly, I heard shouts: “Pirates! Are they pirates!” I ran back and saw a motorized boat with two men who appeared to be Chinese, heading speedily in the opposite direction of our vessel. They were about 15 meters away. One was standing behind a machine gun that was positioned close to the bow. He was naked from the waist up and had a towel (or was it his shirt?) tied around his head like a bandana. The other was piloting the boat. My colleagues took photos. It was so quick that it was over within seconds.

Thankfully, no confrontation ensued. As the other boat sped away, we saw the man with the machine gun looking back at us. Later, we learned from the Navy crew that they were Chinese fishermen. 

Wow, Chinese fishermen with machine guns! I thought: What chance do our Filipino fishermen have when faced with such a hostile presence?

On the approach to Scarborough Shoal, the crew started to prepare the lifeboats that would take us there. I boarded the lifeboat after Ablan and positioned myself behind him, intent on seeing every piece of the action. 

As our lifeboat bobbed in the turquoise waters, the reef—or what looked like mainly coral, barely above sea level—came into view. There were a few scattered rocks that appeared above the waterline.

‘I will be the first’ 

The competitor in Congressman Ablan emerged. I heard him intently tell our boat pilot to speed up our pace and to get ahead of “Aping” (Yap). Then he turned to me and said rather emphatically in a mix of Filipino and English: “Jen, I will be the first congressman to set foot on Scarborough Shoal. Now, you can be the first journalist to land on it. Just let me get ahead by a few seconds. Don’t be first, ha!” 

And that’s what happened. I was conscious of his instruction the whole time, so when we reached the tip of the reef’s shallow part where our boat berthed, I watched him take his big step, and then I let my feet follow. My heart was racing. On this contested ground, I stood where no other journalist had stood before.

I looked around me and saw that we had disembarked ahead of the others. Congressman Yap seemed unmindful of whether he was first to set foot on the shoal or not. Perhaps it was his health condition? Ablan looked jubilant. I heard him ask the Navy captain where to plant the Philippine flag. 

(This 1997 expedition was the second time that the Philippines raised its flag on Scarborough Shoal. The first was in 1965, when a lighthouse was also built on it.)

I stood on the shoal and felt the cold caress of azure water on my feet. Oh, my gosh. The shoal unveiled itself as a silent landscape with beautiful secrets. Crystal-clear pools teemed with marine life. I saw colorful fish, mostly angel fish, and sea urchins and seahorses. The Filipino fishermen who came ahead told us to be mindful while stepping on the corals, to look before we step. Their medium-sized motorized bancas were docked nearby. 

‘Ililigtas ka’

As early as the Spanish colonization of the Philippines, Bajo de Masinloc served both as economic sustenance and life-saver to Filipino fishermen who used it as traditional fishing ground and shelter during bad weather. 

While waiting for the flag-planting ceremony, I spoke to some of the Filipino fishermen. They pointed to a spot in the middle of the shoal where, during storms, they would dock their boats and huddle together, waiting for the bad weather to pass. What was amazing in their story was the fact that there was no structure or cover to protect them from the harsh elements. The shoal is in the middle of the open sea but according to them, it is so calm and serene even during a tempest: “Parang walang bagyo kahit may bagyo.”

A fisherman drew sharp contrast between Scarborough Shoal and the urban legend involving the Bermuda Triangle that swallows and makes one disappear. He said Scarborough Shoal will save you—“Ililigtas ka.” (Scarborough Shoal or Bajo de Masinloc is also known as Panatag Shoal.)

They said they survived even the heaviest storms here; their boats remained intact, allowing them to go home unscathed and safe to their families. 

The Philippine flag-planting ceremony was starting. I rushed to board one of the lifeboats to get to the rock where it was to take place. In a press conference that followed at the same spot, Ablan told us reporters: “They (China) claimed that they own this place. But now that you are here, you’ve seen that the Philippines is more accessible, it is nearer, and it is within the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea’s description of what is our territory.” 

(Fast-forward to July 2016: The International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea or International Court of Justice in The Hague found that China’s claims of historic rights within the nine-dash line, which Beijing uses to demarcate its claims in the South China Sea, are “without legal foundation.” The court also concluded that “China’s activities within the Philippines’ two-hundred-nautical-mile exclusive economic zone (EEZ), such as illegal fishing and environmentally ruinous artificial island construction, infringe on the Philippines’ sovereign rights.”)

We stayed at the shoal for perhaps more than an hour. The Navy crew was in a hurry to return while there was still daylight. I was quietly relieved that we left early.

We boarded a second Navy vessel that was already waiting for us at the shoal when we arrived. We were told that this one was faster. It was bigger and faster indeed, because we were back in Subic by midnight of the next day.

Back on the boat, I gazed at Bajo de Masinloc as it faded into the distance. As a journalist, I felt fortunate that I had a glimpse of it and its stories, up close and personal—not only of the day’s events, but of what may come next. 

What left an indelible memory in me was the weathered faces of the Filipino fishermen and their stories of resilience, dwindling catches, Chinese patrols, and dreams of peaceful seas. 

Will I return to Bajo de Masinloc? I probably would when an opportunity presents itself, this time more hopeful than apprehensive. At 60, I am now a grandmother of fiv. My wish is that the next generation will witness a peaceful resolution to this conflict that has taken so many years of livelihood, dignity, and lives from Filipino fishermen and their families. They may not fully grasp the intricacies of geopolitics, but they are the true custodians of Scarborough Shoal.

Jen Velarmino-van der Heijde covered Olongapo, Subic Bay Naval Base, and Zambales as a correspondent of The Philippine Star in 1988-2010. During her active years as a journalist, she was also a stringer for Kyodo News and CBS News Manila bureaus. Currently, she is a project consultant for an international NGO, and the president of the Subic Bay Freeport Chamber for Health and Environment Conservation.

Read more: Filipino fishers are called upon to sacrifice during PH-US Balikatan

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The possibilities are endless when you visit the Ateneo Martial Law Library and Museum (library.martiallawmuseum.ph), a digital archive of documentary, literary and visual records and other resources on martial law. 

A collaborative project of the Ateneo de Manila University, the Rizal Library and the University of Hawaii, the digital library was launched on April 8 at the Rizal Library on the Ateneo campus. 

“By creating the digital library and archive, we hope to ensure that all Filipinos will remember the atrocities of the past and never forget the horrors of the Marcos dictatorship, so that the youth of today especially will not allow these adversities to happen again,” Maria Luz Vilches, Ateneo vice president for higher education, said at the launch that was also livestreamed on Zoom.  

Treasure trove

It’s a navigable library that offers a treasure trove of materials, divided into primary sources (diaries, testimonies and journals, government documents, memoirs, newspaper articles), secondary sources (biographies, books, essays), and art, literature, films and photography. 

By making the digitized materials available to all, the digital library seeks to preserve history, and make the younger generation of Filipinos “understand and learn from the experiences’’ of that dark period in history, Vilches said, adding:    

“ … [A]nd no better time than today should we insist on raising awareness given a rising tide of political authoritarianism around the globe.” 

At least 3,240 people were killed by the military and police out of the 107,240 victims of human rights violations during the regime of Ferdinand Marcos Sr. that saw the first family amassing $5 billion in ill-gotten wealth on top of $683 million in assets stashed in Swiss banks, the library noted in its summary of the Marcos legacy.

Two professors, a university librarian and a web developer conceptualized the digital library at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020 out of a sheer need for a “searchable one-stop archive’’ of primary sources on martial law. 

“I teach about the martial law period, and I always wanted to teach with primary source documents, and then I remember thinking: ‘How can I find out about these different documents about martial law?” Vina Lanzona, associate professor at the University of Hawaii-Manoa, said during the roundtable discussion.

“So I Googled … Proclamation 1081, and all the documents related to the period itself, and I thought, ‘Why can’t we have a website where we can access all this information about martial law, and …. these different types of resources, right?” she said.

And that’s how the idea of a digital library began. 

Lanzona next contacted her friend, Vernon Totanes, then a director at the Rizal Library, who in turn linked her up with Miguel Paolo Rivera, past immediate coordinator of the Martial Law Museum and Library. It was Liezl Cabrera, a partner at Dapat Studio, who developed the website.  

Logical follow-up

“Putting up a martial law online was the most logical follow-up to having a martial law museum. That’s why I thought of connecting Vina with Migs,” said Totanes, now university librarian at Ateneo. 

Rivera, a lecturer at Ateneo’s Department of Political Science, said: “This idea of a library is something that people have mentioned, but they couldn’t seem to do it. So we just decided, why not go against the odds and do it?”

The presidential election as well as the 50th anniversary of the imposition of martial law in 2022 loomed on the horizon, making the idea “urgent and relevant,” according to Lanzona.  

“As both historian and educator, it was really important to me to ensure accurately depicting martial law, because it wasn’t something that was fictional,” she said. 

Both Lanzona and Rivera spoke through Zoom, while Totanes spoke on stage at the Rizal Library during the forum.  

Ferdinand Marcos Jr.’s landslide victory in the May 2022 presidential vote sent authors into a frenzy of scanning their books on martial law, for obvious reasons.  

“All of a sudden, many people were worried about their books,” Totanes said, chuckling. “I was getting all sorts of emails, and, you know, offers to digitize books and documents, and preserve them in the Rizal Library. And I was actually having secret meetings, but I could not tell anyone because just in case, we didn’t want anyone else to know that these papers were in the Rizal Library. I don’t know if I should be saying that now.” 

He added: “But part of it also was, some people became ‘scanning happy’—they were scanning entire books and making these available in Google drives. Are there lawyers in the house? But I was the one saying, ‘No, no, we can’t do that’!” 

With the permission of copyright owners, some books can be read in full. But for the rest, only the first chapters can be accessed. 

The memoirs, autobiographies, novels, collections of poems, essays on martial law—the whole gamut—are a rare find even for non-students of history, and so are the rest of the documents, videos, films, and documentaries.

The digital library had its initial launch in September 2022 as part of Ateneo’s “awareness-raising campaign” on the declaration of martial law. 

Aquino Foundation

Francis “Kiko” Aquino Dee, deputy executive director of the Ninoy and Cory Aquino Foundation, said the launch of the digital Martial Law Library is “a big help to the work of the Aquino Foundation in particular, as it makes many of the primary sources that talk about our country’s journey back towards democracy, which is central to the stories of Ninoy and Cory, readily available.” 

“For the country as a whole, I hope that Filipinos, especially those who are more internet-savvy, can use this resource as we form our beliefs about our history and our current situation,” Dee said.   

The original idea of a digital museum on martial law at the university was broached by Erwin Tiongson, an Ateneo alumnus and a former senior economist at the World Bank, who was outraged by the “surreptitiously organized’’ burial of strongman Ferdinand Marcos Sr. at the Libingan ng mga Bayani on Nov. 18, 2016, according to Vilches. 

“ … [W]e can demonstrate, we can lash out in anger, but we should also truly make sure that no one ever forgets about martial law,’’ Vilches quoted Tiongson as saying in an email he sent her immediately after Marcos’ burial.  
Dr. Mark Sanchez at Vanderbilt University and Lila Ramos-Shahani of the International Council of Monuments and Sites also delivered presentations during the launch. With a report from Minerva Generalao

Read more: Project Gunita et al.: ‘The truth will outshine the lies’

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“Pangalay,” aka “igal” and “pamansak,” is one such rich dance form of the Sama, the Badjaw, the Tausug, the Jama Mapun and the Yakan of the Sulu Archipelago. 

But a living artifact such as the pangalay must be danced constantly, or it dies. Auspiciously, in the first quarter of 2024, the Year of the Wood Dragon, a dream came true: “Pangalay at Maskara 2024,” which I had conceptualized in 2003. 

This production of the AlunAlun Dance Circle, undertaken in cooperation with the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, proved challenging for the fresh batch of pangalay/igal dancers trained in the Amilbangsa Instruction Method. The young dancers are from the Marikina Dance Guild and the Philippine Barangay Folk Dance Troupe.

“Pangalay at Maskara 2024” demonstrated how the ancient pangalay connects past and present in new choreographies set to traditional percussion, pop, and selected music works of National Artists. Utilizing the compositions of National Artists Lucrecia Kasilag, Antonio Molina, Felipe de Leon, Francisco Feliciano and Antonino Buenaventura in pangalay choreographies paid tribute to their artistic genius and enriched pangalay’s significance as a living heritage. With the use of Asian devices such as masks, puppets, and other properties, the AlunAlun Dance Circle’s new choreographers created innovative steps and movements that are appealing to various audiences, especially the youth.  

The young audiences, generally unfamiliar with the pangalay/igal tradition, experienced the spellbinding quality of traditional postures and gestures ingeniously choreographed to the varied musical selection. The innovative choreographies were presented in disparate stage facilities from Feb. 2 to March 7: the De La Salle University Manila’s Teresa Yuchengco Auditorium, the Miriam College Nuvali Covered Court in Laguna, the Marian Auditorium of Miriam College Loyola Heights, and the Manila Metropolitan Theater. 

It was delightful to see the enthusiastic response of the throngs of young people regaled by the provocative fusion of tradition and innovation. Importantly, “Pangalay at Maskara 2024” marked significant milestones: the 24^th anniversary of the AlunAlun Dance Circle; the culmination of the National Arts Month in February; and the observance of the International Women’s Month in March.

Mabuhay! Something good is always a joy to remember.

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